


Sunday Morning Drive

by somehowunbroken



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-09
Updated: 2011-04-09
Packaged: 2017-10-17 20:08:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/180732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somehowunbroken/pseuds/somehowunbroken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danny has an idea, and Steve's day gets a whole lot more interesting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunday Morning Drive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Merrov](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merrov/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Утренняя прогулка](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12017703) by [cicada](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cicada/pseuds/cicada)



> Okay, I'm just going to say - this is not safe, I don't condone this, please oh please don't think this is something that you should try. Steve and Danny are clearly insane, okay, that's nothing new, but God, don't do what they're doing in this story.
> 
> This was written because of Alex O'Loughlin's hips and Scott Caan's shoulders and the flail party that padfootthegrim and I had the other day, during which I mentioned this idea I had in some detail. This ensued:
> 
> somehowunbroken : I DUNNO IT'S JUST A THOUGHT  
> padfootthegrim : THIS IS A THOUGHT YOU MUST WRITE YOU MUST OR MY WORLD WILL NEVER BE COMPLETE  
> somehowunbroken : I MIGHT HAVE TO DO IT THEN  
> somehowunbroken : I WOULD HATE TO BE THE CAUSE OF THAT
> 
> And so, I won't be the cause of that, at least not today.

Steve isn’t quite sure how he got here.

Objectively, yeah, he gets it. He can clearly trace the path from waking up to eating breakfast to Danny smirking, leaning in, murmuring _I have an idea_ in that voice that promises that Steve’s day is about to get a hell of a lot more interesting.

And yeah, he remembers going upstairs and stripping out of his clothes, laying on the bed, Danny’s fingers driving him fucking crazy, _in out in out_ , pushing more and more lube inside with every movement. There’s more there, Danny’s tongue and Danny’s smile and Danny’s words against his hip, but then there’s the feel of smooth rubber trailing up the inside of his thigh and the stretch as Danny settles the base of the plug against Steve’s skin.

That’s where the memory starts to slip, though, because Danny had thrown him a pair of sweatpants and a smile as he slipped out the door, and somewhere between that point and now they’d ended up on Danny’s motorcycle, riding easily around the island.

Which is, under normal circumstances, nothing special. Danny likes his bike, a 2006 Kawasaki Vulcan – and oh, how Steve had made fun of him for getting this model, _you’re a secret Trekkie, Danno, who knew_ \- and Steve, for all he gripes about having to ride bitch, actually enjoys going along as Danny cruises all over Oahu. He comes to appreciate his vantage point, too, and how it lets him wrap his hands around Danny’s hips or catch those shoulders in his hands as Danny’s muscles bunch and curve and glide beneath his palms.

Now, though, right now, Steve doesn’t remember walking into the garage or bucking his helmet or getting on the bike; right now Steve isn’t sure he remembers where he lives, or how old he is, or even whether or not he has a sister. Right, now, all he can remember is Danny’s voice in his ear, smooth and heavy like the best bourbon, _hold on tight, babe, keep right there_ , and everything since then is a blur of sensation.

Steve’s pretty sure they’re not going all that fast - Danny’s kept them to the back roads, twisting and turning and running the bike along paths that are barely more than packed dirt, and the scenery isn’t flying by. He can’t really be sure, though, because everything is hazy except the vibrations of the bike reverberating through his entire body from tip to toe. The plug is driving him insane, and all Steve can do at this point is grip Danny’s hips a little tighter and lean a little more into his body and try to remember how to breathe as everything thrums, thrums, thrums.

“Danny,” Steve gasps, and he knows he’s got to be almost crushing Danny’s hips between his hands, has to be nearly killing him here, but it’s all he can do to lean his head against Danny’s shoulder and vaguely hate the helmets that are keeping him from panting directly into Danny’s neck as his hips fight to jerk and thrust and move. Danny, for his part, speeds the bike up and tilts his head sideways a little, bumping their helmets together gently.

It’s less than two miles later that Steve is groaning and breathing out his release, grateful for the sissy seat like he’s never been before, because he has something to slump back into while he shakes. It seems like it’s neverending, sparks and bursts of pleasure shivering up and down his spine, because Danny just keeps going like he has no idea, no fucking clue, like this wasn’t his plan all along.

Maybe it isn’t, though, Steve thinks after he regains some form of control and pulls himself back upright. Maybe there’s something else that Danny has in mind, because he’s still going, still pointing the bike away from home, deeper into what counts as countryside on the island.

It’s almost unbearable to keep going, because what had been a pleasurable haze of vibration and friction before is sharp-edged and almost painful now. Steve knows that it wouldn’t take much for him to end this – a tap on Danny’s shoulder, a word in his ear, and Danny would stop the bike and remove the plug and ease him down, no questions asked, no judgments made – but he also knows that Danny’s got some sort of end goal in mind here, something else he’s planning to get out of this, and Steve would be lying if he said that he wasn’t curious.

And, okay, kind of turned on again, look at that.

Danny is still driving along the same road, deeper and deeper into the valley, jungle on one side and beach on the other. It’s completely deserted but for them; this has never been a huge throughway, and since the storm last month washed out a decent section of the pavement a few miles up, it’s not even really a viable means of getting around. This particular route means that this isn’t a destination sort of trip, though; it’s a journey sort of trip.

Danny turns them around in a wide, lazy arc about a mile before the road gets bad, and he kicks the bike into high gear and leans forward a little as they pick up speed. Steve leans with him out of habit, and between the vibrations and the new angle, he’s pretty sure that Danny can hear the strangled moan that le lets out, even through both helmets. Danny’s response seems to be to speed the bike up even further, and Steve can feel himself swell again as he curls his body around Danny’s as much as he dares and pants, clutching at his hips.

Danny slows the bike down after a few minutes of this, pulling off to the side of the road and setting the bike steady. Steve plants his feet on the ground as soon as Danny nods, and doesn’t even try to stop himself from slumping forward even as his hands fumble with the buckle on the helmet.

“Hey,” Danny says after a minute. He’s got his helmet off, too, and his hair is mussed from the weight of it and the wind coming off the ocean. “Up, babe, come on, get up.”

Steve drags himself off of the bike and waits as Danny swings his leg over the seat. Then he’s pulling Danny to him, one hand going through his hair and the other catching his hip, as Danny leans his face up to meet Steve’s mouth in a searing kiss.

“Here,” Danny’s saying as he pulls back, “here, come here-” And he’s pushing and pulling until Steve is resting, bent with his hands on the seat, pushing the bike more firmly onto the kickstand. Danny is opening the saddlebag and reaching inside with one hand even as he’s deftly undoing the ties on Steve’s sweatpants and sliding them down with the other.

Danny’s fingers are cool as they trail over Steve’s ass, grasping the bottom of the plug firmly and slowly pulling it out. It’s immediately replaced by three of Danny’s fingers, slick and sure as they press in, and Steve has a moment to appreciate and maybe laugh a little about the fact that Danny brought supplies before Danny is pulling those fingers out and moving again, lining his hips to Steve’s and pushing forward.

It’s not going to take much; they’ve been on the bike for almost two hours, all told, and this is what the entire morning has been leading to, Steve bent over the bike in the middle of nowhere and Danny pounding into him. Steve loses himself in it, the smell of sweat and sunshine and the leather from the seat, the way the sun feels on his shoulders as Danny rocks into him, the bead of sweat he can feel trickling down his back but can’t do anything about until Danny leans forward and mouths it from his skin. One of Danny’s hands slips from Steve’s hip to grasp his cock, and he knows just the right amount of pressure, just the right way to twist his wrist to make Steve shudder and lock his elbows as he comes again with a groan. Danny follows not long after, pushing deep and holding himself whipcord-taut before leaning to speak into Steve’s back.

“God,” Danny moans as he pulls out, “good God, babe, you are fucking fantastic. I don’t tell you that enough. I really, really do not say those words to you often enough. You, Steve, you’re just-” His hands flail helplessly, a pale imitation of their normal range of motion, and Steve manages to twist them both around and fall in a graceless heap to the ground.

“God,” Danny says again a little later. “You good, babe?”

“Yeah,” Steve replies, and maybe his voice is still a little loose, a little blurry around the edges, because Danny tucks him a little tighter against his chest and sticks his face into Steve’s hair and breathes him in.

“We should head home,” Danny says at some point, so they stand and stretch and rearrange their clothing into something that won’t get them arrested on the way there. The ride home is quicker, more efficient now that Danny’s got somewhere to be, and they’re pulling back into the driveway about half an hour later.

Steve stumbles up the stairs as Danny locks the garage, and he’s nearly asleep by the time Danny slips into the bed beside him. Steve rolls and moves until he’s pressed into Danny’s frame, chest to back, and he tosses an arm over Danny’s hip and settles.

“Just for the record,” he mumbles into Danny’s ear, “your idea of a Sunday morning drive is not normal.”

He’s asleep before he can see Danny smile in response.

**Author's Note:**

> [This is Danny's bike.](http://pictures.topspeed.com/IMG/crop/200602/2006-kawasaki-vulcan-1600-8_460x0w.jpg)


End file.
